In Dream
by tenkage onna
Summary: The grass cuts so deep, but he lets himself be pushed into the tiny knives, because he's numb to it, numb to everything but this moment.


yeah, look for symbols (thumbsup) the dream tells more than you prolly get. well, i hope it does.

warning: suggestive themes, weirdness, spoilers, angst.  
inspiration: "miss you" by blink 182  
reason: i just wanted to.  
pairing: ikuto/falcomon  
rating: T?  
summary: the grass cuts so deep, but he lets himself be pushed into the tiny knives, because he's numb to it, numb to everything but this moment.  
disclaimer: not mine, never will be.

aaaaaand read onwards if you dare! (evil cackle)

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He walks through the candy green grass, which is oddly soft, despite how it should be crunchy. He walks on, towards the tall tree with the crystal-like leaves and the soft bark, pausing only to smile warmly at a figure sitting beneath it. The smile isn't as warm as it must look, because the figure stands and looks at him in worry. He smiles wider, the smile so full of joy that he can almost taste the tears again. He walks quickly to the figure, embracing him and snuggling. He never snuggles, but he's so lonely and he misses him so much and he's so soft and he just cant help it.

Soft arms wrap around him, though they aren't really arms. He's so happy, he doesn't care if the candy grass doesn't crunch or that the powdery sugar sky isn't white. He doesn't care if everything looks like an acid trip gone wrong, and he most certainly doesn't care if the tree bark is melting. He just wants to stay in these arms, stay in them and breath in a scent that no one but this person has. Even when his nose begins to tingle in a sneeze, like it always does when they hug, he doesn't stop. He cant, not again.

They sit down, ignoring the suddenly crunchy-sharp grass, and they talk for hours. It doesn't matter if his legs and palms are bleeding, he hasn't heard him in so long. They talk and talk and talk, and he doesn't know if his dear friend is being cut, but he knows that even if he were, the other wouldn't leave him again. The powdery sky is so many colors now, reds and yellows and blues, and the tree's leaves are sharp and falling so gently around them. They don't stop talking, their hands joined, even if he knows it isn't a hand.

And suddenly, they're so close again, hugging and touching and he knows this is something friends don't do. But he doesn't care, cause they've always done it, and he misses him so much. The candy grass cuts harshly at his back when he lays back. He wont let the other lay down on such painful grass, even if he has to be on bottom. It doesn't matter, he couldn't bear it if he was hurt. Their saliva is sweet, sweeter than the sugar sky or the melting bark, and the touches are softer than the candy grass had been before. Voices are softer and more soothing than the soft lullaby thats drifting lazily in the air, and his name had never sounded sweeter than when this person said it.

For all the times he thought the voice was annoying, he takes it back. He takes it back, and he desires to hear his name and the other's badly, and he wants nothing more than for this to last. The grass cuts so deep, but he lets himself be pushed into the tiny knives, because he's numb to it, numb to everything but this moment. There is more bliss than pain, more joy than sadness right now. They go on as if nothing hurts, and even when the crystal-leaves stop falling gently and now impale him, he clings to the other. He cant let go. Not again. He wont.

The sugar sky becomes to much to look at, the leaves and grass to unbearable to stand, but he clings, oh how he clings. The lullaby turns malicious, and its like his ears are bleeding. He can taste tears again, but he doesn't know if they're his or the other's. He just knows he's pulling feathers out with how hard he's holding him, and the joy isn't as pure anymore. The other tells him just a bit more, that they can out wait the burning stabs and the piercing voice. They can it seems, they will. He believes this, and clings, but its no good. Soon, its over powering, sharp claws are tugging at his hands, and he cant bear the pain any longer. The clawing hands hurt so bad he tells the other, and its no longer possible for him to hold on. Feathers come loose, cries echo in the banshee voice, and the sugar sky is coming closer and closer by the second.

He holds tightly to the hand, tries to hold on, but the sky, it just keeps coming-

He lets go.

When Ikuto wakes up, he's coated in sweat and he can feel tears on his cheeks. He dabs at the wetness on his face gently, and draws the hand back to look at it, almost afraid of what he'll see. He sees a salty tear. There are no cuts, no feathers, and no blood. His ears ring with the voices of his dream, but he doesn't feel blood dribbling from them like before. He is clothed, and he is in bed, with a high fever. His younger sister sits next to him, worry and fear evident in her big eyes. Ikuto blinks slowly as he looks at her, noting that she is now five, and its been six years since he first saw her.

"Onii-chan had a bad dream." Yuka murmured, eyes teary.

She knows, because she's always the one who sees him when he wakes up. He searches for cuts, but she reassures him they aren't there, and listens to what he's willing to tell. She doesn't know Digimon and humans aren't supposed to be together in this world, and she doesn't know what he told her. She was innocent, listening and trying to comfort him, not judge him nor convince him he'll get over it. Out of all the people in this world Ikuto has met, only Yuka has ever made him feel better.

He hopes his sister will always be like this.

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done! sucky? yes. but oh well!

onii-chan: big brother, brother.


End file.
